Placid
by Sophisticated Psycho
Summary: Take that back." . Ulquiorra almost, almost, wanted to grin.


When Grimmjow lost his arm at Tousen▓s hand, Ulquiorra wasn▓t the least bit surprised. Well, maybe a little but he kept it all inside. When the other Arrancar flounced in, minus an arm, the fourth merely followed his movements with blank eyes.

He didn▓t want the Sixth -- it was former now, wasn▓t it? -- to see the small spark of curiosity, didn▓t want him to know he so badly wanted an answer to the question in his head; what the hell happened to you?

It▓s been awhile since then, and Ulquiorra long since found out just why Grimmjow was lacking a limb, from none other than Tousen himself.

Ever since loosing his arm, Grimmjow has been sulking. Walking around with his tail between his legs, so to speak. He often looked like a kicked puppy -- er, kitten --, especially when he simply wandered into Ulquiorra▓s chamber, wordlessly asking for comfort, reassurance, anything. Something Ulquiorra obviously never gave him. At least not in the form of loving hugs and kisses. He often flaunted his new ability to push the other around more than ever now.

With Grimmjow lacking not only and arm but his rank as well, he had absolutely no place to even attempt to gain the usual attention from the Espada. He no longer came prowling in, covered in blood and sweat and grim. No longer shoving the shorter man to the wall.

For awhile, Ulquiorra was sure Grimmjow was too ashamed of himself to ever try to lay a hand on the Espada ever again. But his pouting only lasted for awhile, and soon enough, the former Sixth gained the confidence to start trying to initiate things with him again. Ulquiorra wouldn▓t let him have it his way.

He no longer let Grimmjow steal dominance. If anything, he made him work for most of it, made him earn the right to be inside of an Espada -- inside of the Fourth ranking Espada even. And without an arm, Grimmjow had a major disadvantage. He couldn▓t fight as well, not to say that it dented his skills bad but it effected them some┘ he just would never admit to that. It was more common for the former Sixth to be on his back on Ulquiorra▓s bed, the Espada bouncing up and down. Up and down. Slowly. Quickly.

It took awhile for Grimmjow to notice that his dominance was dwindling away. But he knew, deep down he did know, that he couldn▓t ever force the Fourth around. Not unless he gained his rank back. With his rank he could at least bend the rules and order Ulquiorra around, not that the blank bitch ever listened or anything. He would wait, however, until he got his arm back so he could--

⌠What are you just fucking sitting there for? Do something.■ the former Sixth growled, cutting off his own thoughts in favor of focusing on the pale skinned figure in front of his face.

⌠We▓ve been through this before, Grimmjow.■ and there▓s a hand at his throat, and Grimmjow just can▓t figure out why he stopped breathing when black nails bit into his skin. ⌠I told you to no longer speak to me. We are on my terms; my rules. If you do not like it then you can gather your clothing and leave.■

Of course, Grimmjow shuts up. It▓s the only thing that will make Ulquiorra lift his hips and slide them back down. Purposely moving slow. Always taking his time. It drove Grimmjow up the wall, and he wanted his other arm so fucking badly but--

Ulquiorra stopped what little movement he had been doing and just stared at Grimmjow. ⌠You▓re a failure at being attentive. Spacing out on me while I▓m pleasuring you; no wonder you were stripped of your rank. Nothing means anything to you.■

Grimmjow snarled, gripping pale while skin under his claws so hard he could feel Ulquiorra▓s pelvis bone starting to dip and bend under the force. Sure his rank had been taken away, but when he was pissed it seemed like all of his strength came back.

Ulquiorra merely stared at him, despite the obvious discomfort from not only having his hip squeezed to the point where hair line fractures were splitting through the bone, and the fact that Grimmjow was very much so deep inside of him and very much so just as hard as the grip he had on Ulquiorra.

⌠Take that back.■

Ulquiorra almost, almost, wanted to grin.

⌠Why? It▓s the truth. What I▓m doing means nothing more to you than personal gratification.■

Another snarl and Ulquiorra found himself on the bottom then, a jab to his insides from the position change. He was inwardly surprised. He often provoked Grimmjow like this because he liked to see him mad, to see him pissed off┘ especially during sex. But Grimmjow had never mustered enough of himself to ever assert his dominance on Ulquiorra again.

And with one arm even.

Out of spite, the Fourth kept himself from reacting in the slightest, at least for now. But it was hard not to arch up against the other -- he had ventured once to refer to Grimmjow as his lover, and things just tasted sour in his mouth after that -- and moan when teeth and textured tongue found his Hollow hole, torturing the skin. After a good few minutes of constantly biting and chewing at the same spot, Grimmjpw eventually pulled a shiver and a small sigh from the Fourth.

He had won, but only for the moment. Ulquiorra never let him reign supreme for very long. He didn▓t want to think that maybe the Espada was pitying him; he only lost his arm and his rank. He didn▓t want any fucking sympathy. He▓d gain back his position or die trying.

Pushing into Ulqiuorra with such rough rapid thrusts made the level of his anger look small. He wanted to hurt him. Wanted to beat it in to him that this meant much more than either of them would ever, ever admit.

The sharp smacking sounds of skin on skin coupled with slick lubrication and now tinted red with blood from the force of his thrusts, were the only thing Grimmjow allowed himself to hear for quite awhile. Eventually the noises Ulquiorra had started makin wormed into his ears, setting up camp in his groin to fuel him further and further.

The little noises turned to full blown moans the longer time went on. The more Grimmjow pushed into him, the more control the Fourth lost. He hated that the other was reducing him to a writhing moaning┘Iwhore/I. But at the same time he loved every second of it. Every sharp stab into his insides, the claws digging into his side, the fangs latched into the black steely darkness that was the edge of his Hollow hole.

See, just like Grimmjow, Ulquiorra too had a secret.

Grimmjow was simple, he loved fighting to the point where it defined his very being. The blood and dirt he returned with on his body were trophies, signs of pride whether he has lost of won. Grimmjow loved swinging his fists around, clawing and gouging out chunks of skin from someone body to assert his dominance over them and prove that he was anything but as weak as everyone seemed to think he was. Killing someone was his way of redemption, and coming back to the strong hold to fuck Ulquiorra into the wall was his treat for being such a good good boy and behaving himself in the only way Grimmjow could: by murdering some hopeless soul.

Ulquiorra on the other hand, now he was different. He pushed the other away when in the yes of someone else, but in private welcomed the former Espada with open arms. He loved to contradict himself. His high authority meant nothing to him when Grimmjow busted through the door. He knew he was give his dominance to the lions just to keep the former Sixth in place. Sporting bite marks, and a sore ass were his own trophy. He knew Grimmjow only came to him, because their out ward hatred for each other was merely foreplay.

Claws raked down his side, bringing him from his thoughts, and Ulquiorra glanced down to see blood pooling in long red streaks against his pale skin. His eyes flickered up to Grimmjow, blank stare meeting with a pissed off, dark lust hazed gaze that he welcomed and enjoyed so very much. He adore this look. This look meant that Grimmjow was about ready to raise hell just to prove that he wasn▓t weak. And he wouldn▓t be dominated.

The fight for dominance between them for an act. Ulquiorra pretended to hate giving himself up to Grimmjow, when really he enjoyed every last minute of it.

But images were images.

And even when Grimmjow was pushing him further and further into the mattress, forcing blood to pour from more than one place on his bed, he never regretted it.

He knew Grimmjow▓s secret; his utter lust for dominance and need to prove to everyone that he wasn▓t some abandoned kitty that was found in a box only to be nursed to health and babied. Fuck that.

But never, ever, so long as the sun shone in the real world, would Grimmjow ever know that Ulquiorra enjoyed giving over his own dominance, letting the former Sixth have it. Because it, literally, made him Ipurr/I.

Especially after Grimmjow tensed, and Ulquiorra felt a white hot mess sting his insides just as his own painted his stomach. He knew what came next. The same as always. Grimmjow would move, gather his clothes and leave once dressed. He never stayed anymore, not since loosing his arm.

Ulquiorra couldn▓t stop a light gasp pulling from his throat when the former Sixth did the exact opposite, instead of shifting away, he burrowed himself against the Espada and very nearly promptly fell asleep. After a long time, the Fourth managed to let his eyes slip shut, but not for the purpose of sleep. It was obvious now that this meant more to Grimmjow than he thought, and much more than the other had let on. How like him.

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End file.
